


Until It Sleeps

by Dulcinea



Series: The Trilogy [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Caretaking, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Multi, No Smut, No wife bashing, Therapy, Traumatic Brain Injury, mental health, tumblr: kakavegeweek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 13:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30056121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: “You’ll still be here when I wake up... right, Vegeta?”Back in the safety of the Time Chamber, Vegeta said yes. He said it every time after they left, staying by Goku’s side as the man experienced the biggest challenges of his life, day in and day out.It got harder and harder to keep saying ‘yes.’ After all, what help could he really be offering, when the person stopping him every time was Goku himself?A sequel to the fic ‘Bleeding Me.’
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Series: The Trilogy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211132
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33
Collections: Kakavege week #10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkWhirly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkWhirly/gifts).



“Kakarot, wake up.”

Vegeta hoped for a response of some kind—a murmur, a grunt—but when he glanced down at the heavy body in his arms, Goku was still slumped and passed out cold. His neck hung at a weird angle, his nose and cheek pressed against the crook of his shoulder. A steady stream of light breath warmed Vegeta’s skin. 

“Kakarot.” He gave Goku’s body a small shake. “Wake  _ up. _ ”

Goku’s head nudged down and to the right.

The knot in Vegeta’s chest tightened a little more.

His hand slid beyond Goku’s thigh for the front door knob, finding it unlocked as he requested from Chichi. He twisted it open with ease and nudged the door wider with a kick from the tip of his boot. Warm air greeted him as he entered, maneuvering Goku’s limp body in his arms through the door frame and right into the warm house. 

The house looked the same, save the dirty dishes. Chichi must’ve seen to that while they were gone. Vegeta took his time carrying Goku through the living room and down the hallway to the bedroom. It felt good walking through the house again, smelling whatever it was this house smelled of. A good, welcoming smell. 

There on the bed, Vegeta saw the extra blankets and pillows laid out by Bulma, another request fulfilled. With the same strong arm, he slid a hand forward as he squatted down towards the bedsheets and blankets, yanking them back in one go. 

Goku looked like a rag doll on the bed, once Vegeta settled him down. His head lolled backwards, his arms flopped to his sides, his mouth parted open. 

Vegeta slid one strong arm under Goku’s limp upper body. The other free hand situated the pillows in a pile against the headboard.

He took his time resting Goku back down, situating his head correctly on the pile of pillows. He then lifted up Goku’s legs with one arm, the other hand gathering up the sheets. Once he rested Goku’s legs back down, Vegeta tucked all the sheets tight around Goku’s body, all the way up to his chin. 

When finished, Vegeta leaned over him, passing a hand over his hair once, twice. 

It shouldn’t have been that intense. Their fight shouldn’t have wiped out Goku like this. The man had endured so much more in his lifetime, even death itself. Nothing they did was anything remotely taxing. At least, if someone learned off-handedly, or by a third party, they would think this very thought.

But Vegeta saw it all. He was there from the  _ beginning _ . The challenges. The exhaustion and self-hatred and frustration and shame over  _ any _ of this being a challenge to begin with. Every moment. Every painstaking, grueling moment of Goku locked away in a room, passed around from one expert to another, poked and prodded, examined and evaluated, pushed into body-eating machines that analyzed and measured tissues and organs and nerves with eerie precision, without pause, until the day Goku was discharged to go home, recuperate, and then begin it all over again. 

The fights between them, verbal more than physical. That fight tonight. The words expressed their hurt as much as their punches did. As much as they needed to be said, Vegeta hated every moment of it, watching the pain he caused, the blows he delivered hitting home, until Goku finally did the one thing Vegeta needed him to do: give up. 

He had to do it, though. Vegeta knew it. Goku knew it. Even Bulma and Chichi knew it too. The work Goku was doing now, and would continue to do going forward, was long,  _ long _ overdue, but that was just the physical part. There was still a lot of work to do on the mental part. 

Vegeta cupped a hand along the right back curve of Goku’s head. 

His fingers easily found the scar, hidden under the thick black locks of hair. A faint scar. But a scar nonetheless. 

A scar no one dared looked into, or noticed, or even cared about. A scar Goku himself didn’t look into or noticed or cared for either. Until the day Goku’s granddaughter accidentally pointed out the wrong and the weird. The things about Goku that had been well known and accepted by everyone, but were written off as ‘that’s just how he is.’ 

Vegeta gritted his teeth.

Even he accepted that mentality. That judgement. 

He rubbed the scar with the pad of his thumb. 

A foolish judgement. 

Below him, Goku’s nose scrunched up. His eyelids squinted. 

Out came a soft, sleepy murmur—and Vegeta froze, watching Goku’s eyes flutter open into two slits at first, where he saw more white than iris. The flutters grew in intensity, and soon, he watched Goku’s glossy, heavy-lidded eyes roll towards him.

Vegeta smiled, releasing a breath he held back. “Rest, Kakarot.” 

Goku murmured in response, his face scrunching. “V… Veh…”

“Shh, go back to sleep.” He crouched down further, coming nose-to-nose with him. “I brought you home. It’s okay. Rest now.”

“Vegeta…”

“Shh.” He leaned up to kiss his forehead. Against the skin, he whispered, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

When he looked back at Goku, he found his eyes closed, and his lips curved up into a weak smile.

Vegeta waited beside the bed, continuing his gentle hand strokes over Goku’s hair, until he heard his breathing temper out, followed by small snores. Only then did he stand back up and leave the room, keeping the door open behind him. With the house so quiet, he could be in the kitchen and hear anything from the bedroom, should something—Heaven forbid—go wrong.

He sat on the couch in the living room, staring out at the skyline view of Mount Paozu at night. A fog hovered in the horizon, with the last remnants of today’s sunset lingering in the sky, pinks and purples and a vague touch of orange pushed away by a sinking, deep blackness. 

Not the facility. Not the sterile smell and the white walls and the medical people both he and Goku could easily destroy with a flick of their ki or a half-hearted punch. But their strength was meaningless against this. Same with their ki. No senzu bean could heal what damage was done to Goku all those years ago when he was a child.

At least he accomplished what he set out to do tonight. He brought Goku home. When this all began—what felt like years ago, despite it only being weeks—he promised to stay by Goku’s side the whole time. It only took a set of hurtful, awful words hurled at each other to make him break it.

But he was here now. Chichi needed him to get Goku through this. Trusted him to do this. The poor woman needed a break, and Vegeta understood why. He fully understood the pain of caretaking. But he got Goku through the facility. He’d keep a watchful eye on him, and if he needed help, he knew his wife and Chichi were only a phone call away. For now, they were okay. They were going to be okay.

Goku was going to be okay.

Vegeta sunk into the couch, his hands coming up and covering his face.

His inhale was as shaky as his exhale.

He ran his palms down, over his cheeks, jawline, and neck, bending his head back to stare at the ceiling and blink the blurriness out of his vision.

They were home. They were going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

He sat on the couch and watched all the hues in the sky disappear, until the house was left in darkness. Fatigue never settled.

With a long sigh, Vegeta slapped his hands on his knees, pushed up from the couch and walked over to the bedroom.

Inside, Goku slept on, his cheek planted to the pillows.

Vegeta stood in the doorway, listening to his snores for a little while, then headed back down the hallway for the kitchen.

There, he sat at the table, a pile of ready-made sandwiches on one side, a huge pitcher of water on the other. In front of him rested a notepad, where he wrote down the itinerary of the week. Essential things to do around the house, a potential grocery list, the exercises Goku skipped out on and the exercises he needed to start immediately, and then all of Goku’s follow up appointments with all the therapists. It was everything Vegeta hated but knew was necessary to do, because Goku couldn’t handle any of it. Not now. 

He worked on it for some time, finalizing it a little past midnight, and then left for the bedroom upstairs. Still clothed in his armor, sans the boots, he settled over the covers beside Goku, curled onto his side and finally forced his eyes shut.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t have time to panic when Gohan broke the news. While Vegeta did feel the floor give way underneath him at the words ‘Goku’ and ‘inpatient facility’ used in the same sentence, Chichi grabbed his attention—and his arm—and said to her eldest son, “Vegeta will go.” 

Chichi was the real one in control that day. Bulma helped, as did Gohan, but no one was as controlled and poised as Chichi. She organized everything—Goku’s suitcase of clothes to bring to the hospital, his identification papers, the do’s and do not’s—calmed her youngest son Goten down, eased Bulma down from her nervous tendencies of overthinking and over-analyzing situations, all with an attitude and a will Vegeta appreciated. The attitude and the will of a trained royal. 

Vegeta remained quiet while Chichi fielded all the questions. “How long will Goku be there?” “Why does he need to go?” “Do you need anything?” “Is he going to be okay?” Not once did Chichi break. She stayed in control, a firm and steady presence amongst the chaos that broke out from family and friends alike. And it hit Vegeta then how and why this woman was so eerily prepared to begin with: she had done this enough over the years being Goku’s wife. 

He waited until Chichi had a moment alone to ask the most vital question. The one that bugged him from the minute she volunteered Vegeta to go with Goku to the facility. 

“Why me?” 

She tilted her head to the side. Crossed her arms.

The floor tilted beneath Vegeta when she answered, “Because he loves you.” He didn’t get a chance to react as Chichi continued, “He never had to tell me. It was so obvious. I gave up fighting it a long time ago. Bulma has too.” 

He choked out, “What?”

“We’ve known for a while now.” Chichi shrugged. “It was only a matter of time before you two figured it out. I don’t need to know what happened in the Chamber. Let it stay there. All I’m asking is that you be there for him like I have. It won’t be easy.  _ He’s _ not easy. I’ve done this shit by myself a long, long time now. Gotta say though.” She smiled. “It’s nice sharing the burden for once.” 

Vegeta’s only answer was a swing of his arms around her lithe frame, crushing her body to his.

His attention stayed right on Goku as Chichi handled the logistics with Gohan. He remained quiet as he watched the man gingerly pack his things in a single suitcase. “It’s only for a few days,” Gohan had explained. “They need to run a lot of tests and do a jump start on his therapy. It helps to be in a facility dedicated to that.” 

“But why do I have to stay there?” Goku asked. “Why can’t I just come home?”

The hesitation before Gohan answered spoke volumes. “Some of the experiments are… new.” 

“New?”

“I promise you’re not a guinea pig, dad.” Goku tilted his head, and Gohan explained further, “A lab rat. An experiment yourself. They’re not testing on you.” 

“Oh.” Goku eyed him from the corner of his vision. “That’s… good, I guess?”

Then came the avalanche of reassurance and information Vegeta knew Goku had no idea about nor cared to know about either. Bulma suppressed her own nervousness with every scientific factoid and numerical data she babbled out. Gohan’s nervousness wasn’t suppressed at all, visible in his frame and his voice whenever he spoke. Goten, at least, tried to lighten the mood with some stupid jokes. Trunks too.

Vegeta just waited.

Chichi didn’t tag along to send Goku off. Neither did anyone else. Only Gohan, as he was the initial liaison between his father and the facility. Vegeta stuck by Goku’s side as they flew behind Gohan in the direction of where he’d be spending his next three days. It wasn’t a grand building like Vegeta expected, but a smaller one. Didn’t even look like a hospital per say, not like any of the ones he saw in West City, and he realized when they landed that they were nowhere near any of the cities at all, but in the middle of nowhere. 

Gohan gave him an answer a good distance away from Goku, who was seated in a chair, filling out paperwork. “I wanted dad to be near nature and have more attention given to him. This is the place for that.” 

Sincerity in his voice and his demeanor. The sight and the sound of it quelled the nagging thought in Vegeta’s head that Gohan picked this place out of shame for his father’s condition. 

Vegeta met another aspect of his condition head on when he came back to Goku’s side and noticed his obvious struggle reading the lines on the intake form. He glanced at it and frowned—only the first few lines filled in—and his frown disappeared when he caught the shame in Goku’s expression. 

On Goku’s other side, Gohan took a seat, reaching over to grab the pen and his clipboard. “I got it, dad.” 

Goku barely managed to whisper out, “Thanks.” 

Vegeta waited until Gohan walked over to the front desk with the filled out paperwork to grasp Goku’s hand in his. He gave it a tight squeeze from where it laid on top of Goku’s thigh, and his lungs relaxed when he felt Goku squeeze back just as hard. 

He didn’t let go immediately when Gohan returned. Goku’s grip was too strong. A look passed between father and son before Goku released his hand, and he froze when Gohan turned his attention to him. 

It wasn’t the Gohan he knew that met his gaze. It was the boy who killed Cell, hissing under his breath three words that said enough.

“Don’t hurt him.” 

Vegeta simply nodded in return.

Standard formalities followed soon after. A nurse taking vital signs. A bunch of questions confirming answers. A sterilized light blue colored room, where the nurse typed on a computer on wheels, quietly listening to Gohan’s tale about Goku’s medical history, life history and brain history. When finished, she smiled and said, “Go ahead and relax, we’ll start your tests momentarily,” and Vegeta waited until the nurse was gone to take Goku’s hand back in his, fingers twining with fingers, squeezing tight. This time, Goku didn’t squeeze back. 

Test after test after test came. Tests that challenged Vegeta in ways he hadn’t expected. The CT scan came first, which Goku seemed okay with, but Vegeta sensed his fear and anxiety, how it steadily grew the longer he was in the tube. Then a VOG test, which Goku was less keen about as it required him to stay still and have his head placed in something. Then a vHIT test which required special glasses that visibly did not look comfortable and a screen with dots and lines to follow, something Vegeta noticed immediately Goku found frustrating and demoralizing. Then another test, something about objects and touch and feel recognition, and Vegeta wanted to punch someone when he saw the frustration and the tears in Goku’s eyes. 

It was when the needles came out for a blood sample that Vegeta had enough. “You can get this later,” he snapped at the nurse. “Bring that doctor in.” 

“But—”

“ _ Now _ .” 

Goku mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ as the nurse scurried out of the room. Gohan watched the interaction between them with a slight frown. 

The doctor showed up almost a minute or two later, carrying a manila folder with papers. Young, bright, cordial, a clear friend of Gohan’s from how they immediately chatted the second he entered. Vegeta watched them from where he stood, leaning up against the wall cross-armed, right next to Goku who sat in a red and black chair. 

Then all eyes went to Goku, and Vegeta watched the doctor’s jovial atmosphere around him turn serious. 

Sitting on a high rolling stool across from them, with Gohan on the sidelines, the doctor said, “Well, we have your results.”

Vegeta watched him pull out a paper from inside the folder, a paper that rested on top. He read on the headline the word “summary.” 

Goku took the offered paper and brought it to his face. 

While leaning over Goku’s shoulder a little, Vegeta ran his eyes down the page, frowning at the words he did recognize—lobe, no mass, no hemorrhage, mild damage, moderate damage, severe damage—and the ones he didn’t—parietal, occipital, temporal, sulcus, gyrus. 

The doctor explained the overly complicated medical terminology in a few words: “You have a traumatic brain injury in the upper right back side of your head. It’s not severe, thankfully, but it is solidly a moderate one.”

Goku’s voice sounded uneven and shaky. “Is that why I have problems reading and figuring out things?”

“Absolutely. Here, let me show you…” 

Vegeta checked out of the conversation from there. He watched the doctor explain everything point by point, Gohan interpreting for Goku here and there. A screen showing his actual brain. A zoom in of the damage. The results of the other tests confirming what the doctor thought, and Gohan concurring. The difference in lobes and hemispheres in the brain. What Goku lost—and what he could potentially gain back. 

By the time the doctor finished, Goku asked, “Can Vegeta stay?” The doctor nodded an affirmative. As if it mattered. Even if the answer had said no, Vegeta would’ve made them say yes. 

Endless therapy followed from there on out. The doctor put his plan into motion and Vegeta was there for every step of it. Vestibular therapy. Cognitive therapy. Physical therapy. Goku endured it all, relentless in his practice and his work, dedicating himself to it as much as he did any other type of training. Every free moment, Goku spent it working on his exercises, and Vegeta had to be the one to reign him back in so he could get the other needed therapy: rest. 

Time flew by. Goku seemed to improve over the three day period. The doctor evaluated and added two more additional days, which was fine. Everything about this whole situation was challenging, but manageable. 

It was when a new type of nurse came in that Vegeta doubted its importance. A nurse with a laminated badge around her neck, showcasing her name and the initials at the end. Initials that didn’t say MD, PA-C, or DPT, but MHPNP.

He figured out what they meant pretty quick when she introduced herself and said, “I’m a mental health nurse practitioner.” 

Vegeta barely allowed her to stay a minute. 

The doctor stood in silence as Vegeta chewed him out for sending that woman to Goku. But the man stayed firmly in place. A small piece of him was surprised at how this young man stood in front of him without backing down or backing away. 

He found out why when the doctor said, “Psychiatric therapy is as valid and needed as the other therapies he's done. I won’t discharge him until he’s had at least  _ one _ therapy session with our nurse practitioner.” 

“The hell you’re not—”

“One session won’t be detrimental to his condition.” 

Goku cut Vegeta’s tirade off, replying, “I’ll do it.” 

Vegeta snapped his head around. 

Behind him, Goku looked ready for a fight. As determined and focused as he had been this whole time working in the facility. Exhausted, yes, but ready. 

He knew this look too. A look that said no negotiating would happen, at all. 

Vegeta acquiesced with a soft grunt of, “Fine.” 

It ended up becoming two sessions that Vegeta wasn’t allowed to attend. One to gather all the necessary data and discussion, one to deliver a diagnosis and treatment plan. 

He was leaning against the wall as usual, standing behind Goku, when the nurse said words he never, ever expected to hear about Goku, ever. 

“You have depression.” 

His shock outweighed the nervous laugh that bubbled up inside Vegeta. Goku, though, released his own, shook his head no and muttered, “No way.” 

“You do. It’s bordering on moderate, so this is more of what’s called a situational depression than a major depressive disorder.”

“But I’m a happy person! Happy people can’t be depressed.” 

She tilted her head to the side in a way that reminded Vegeta of Chichi. “Goku, depressed people don’t wallow in misery all day every day. Just like your TBI, it’s a physical illness where you have your good days and bad days. You don’t feel sad right now—” She tapped her pen onto a clipboard with papers Goku filled out five days ago on top. “—but you said you haven’t been eating. You don’t find joy in the things you used to anymore. You’re more irritable and restless—”

“But that’s just because of my injury!” 

“Goku, you scored a 21 on the BDI. That’s a solid moderate depressive level.” She sighed, and Vegeta wanted to punch her when she said, “You need to start cognitive-behavioral therapy once you leave. I’m going to recommend you to a colleague of mine,  _ and _ I’m going to prescribe you a light anti-depressant for the time being.” 

Vegeta cut Goku off, grunting, “No.”

Her attention flicked up to him. 

He continued, “He doesn’t need drugs.” 

She shrugged. “Maybe he does. We don’t know. They take three weeks to kick in and it can be adjusted accordingly.” 

“He’s  _ not _ going to take them.”

“And it’s fine if he doesn’t.” She returned her attention to Goku. “I am only giving you options, nothing more. Getting better isn’t the hard part. Maintaining it is. If I can empower you with more tools to feel better overall in the long run, then I will. We’re not here to scare you or make you feel like you’re crazy. We’re here to help you.” 

Goku’s voice sounded so tiny and small. “Thank you.” He almost seemed to fold into himself in the chair as he asked, “Are they—do you think they’ll help?”

“Yes. It’s an extremely low dose SSRI, the lowest dose I can give you. If for any reason they don’t help, or you feel worse, stop them immediately. Okay?” 

Vegeta watched the back of Goku’s head nod once. 

He stayed quiet as the woman finished up whatever she needed to say and do with Goku. When she said her goodbyes to them both, Vegeta resisted the urge to flip her off. 

The second the door closed, Vegeta snarled, “You’re not doing it.”

Goku looked over his shoulder, glaring up at him. “Which part?”

“All of it. The therapy, the drugs—” 

“She said they’d help.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Well, I do.” Goku stood up from the chair, fully turning around to face Vegeta. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m already doing this cognitive stuff in PT.”

“That’s different. You’re  _ physically _ doing something. Not babbling to some stranger.”

“How do you know that?”

“Psychiatry isn’t exclusive to this planet.”

“Have you done it?”

“Tch. Please.” He snapped his head to the side, his upper lip curling into a snarl. “Daikon did it a few times on one of the Frieza Forces satellite stations. Emotional fool. It’s amazing he managed to live nine whole years after Planet Vegeta was destroyed.” He sniffed, shaking his head. “That weakling.”

In his purview, Goku stepped backwards, away from him. Then another.

Vegeta turned back and found a sight he didn’t expect to see.

A slowly shaking head. Stiff body, as if struck by lightning and galvanized in place. Lips moving, forming word after word that never found a voice, until Goku closed his eyes and his mouth and took a big inhale. 

On the exhale, Vegeta stepped away from the wall, because all he saw on Goku was pure, unbridled anger. 

“Guess I’m a weakling then,” Goku said, turning his back to Vegeta. 

He closed the gap between them, his breath caught in his throat. Desperate fingers reached out, touching the curve of Goku’s shoulder. “Wait, I didn’t mean—”

Goku jerked his shoulder away from Vegeta. “You can leave now.” He crossed over to the other side of the room, where the only suitcase he brought laid, packed and ready to go. “I don’t need you anymore.”

Vegeta glared at his back, his hands twisting into fists by his sides. “That’s a lie.”

“So was you saying you loved me.”

_ BZZZZ _

Vegeta startled in place, shaking his head. 

_ BZZZZ _

He turned away from the stove to the phone he placed on the counter top nearby, picking it up and turning it over. 

_ BZZZZ _

The vibrations shook the screen, the caller ID reading “Chichi.” 

He swiped right to unlock and held the receiver to his ear. “Hi.” 

“Hey. Everything OK over there?” 

“Yes. For now.” He tilted his head to the left to keep the phone in place between his shoulder and ear, freeing up his hands. “How are you doing?”

“Well enough, considering.” Vegeta grabbed the wooden spoon in a steaming pot of stove when Chichi confessed, “Bulma’s chain smoking outside, else she’d say hi.”

He sighed, stirring the oatmeal in the pot. “Please make sure she smokes a pack and  _ only _ a pack.” 

“I’ll try. She’s really… irritated.” 

“It’s her engineer mind. Every problem can be fixed, even the impossible ones.” He tapped the side of the spoon a few times on the pot’s rim. “Just let her work herself into exhaustion.” 

“Is that healthy?”

“No, but I rather have that instead of her barging in.” He turned off the stove. “I know she has good intentions—” He picked up the pot’s handle. “—but there’s nothing she can do. This is who Kakarot is now.” He walked over to the table, pouring the oatmeal into a large bowl. “We’ve gone through every possible solution available on this planet, and there is  _ nothing _ that can be done.”

“I know.” Chichi sighed. “She’s talking about calling up Jaco and having him take Goku out into space for an answer.”

“Of course she did.” 

“No way I’d let her do that.”

“Same here.”

Chichi’s soft chuckle over the phone sounded light and relaxed. “Glad I’m not alone in this.”

Vegeta smirked. “It’s like you said.” He picked up the empty pot, crossing over to put it back on the stovetop. “Nice sharing the burden for once.”

“It really is.” 

“Thank you for cleaning the dishes. And everything else.” He walked back to the table, taking the phone back into his hand, neck upright now. “I have to go feed Kakarot now.”

“Okay. I’ll check in later today.” Trepidation and exhaustion soaked her words as she said, “Good luck.” 

He left his cell behind in the kitchen, carrying the heavy tray full of eggs and oatmeal, steam rising from the various plates and bowls. There was a good chance Goku was still asleep. When Vegeta woke up this morning, he found a sight he treasured: Goku lightly snoring, the sheets hanging off his waist, some blankets having tumbled off onto the floor during the night. 

Coming into the room again, Vegeta now found the comforter and all of the blankets on the floor, and Goku’s legs and arms sprawled in weird directions on the mattress, his gi top riding up on his belly.

Vegeta chuckled. He lay the tray of food on top of the dresser, then walked to his bedside.

At the window, he pushed open the curtains a little ways. Light fell over Goku’s sleeping face.

Then, that face scrunched up. Goku grunted, his head turning sharply to the side.

Vegeta sat down on the edge of the bed. He rested his palm on top of Goku’s forearm. “Kakarot. Wake up.” He raised his voice, rubbing his hand over the skin. “Breakfast.”

This time, Goku responded with more than a mumble. He brought his arms close to his body, and then lifted them up a little ways above his head, stretching his torso out. They soon flopped back onto the bed.

Goku’s head rolled on the pillows towards him. Tired, glossy eyes opened up, focusing solely on him. No fear this time. No sadness. But no joy or warmth in them here. 

All Goku managed out was a weak sounding, “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Vegeta pulled his hand away from Goku’s forearm. “Hungry?”

A nod.

As he turned to grab the tray of food, Goku pushed himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. Vegeta laid it adjacent to Goku’s hips first, then climbed back onto the bed, mimicking Goku’s sitting position. The tray of food rested between the two of them for easier feeding.

They sat in silence as they ate. Vegeta ate with half the speed he usually did, but Goku was much slower. He stared ahead, looking at nothing, as he took his time bringing each spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth. The man chewed so long, so slow, that Vegeta could see the visible rise and fall of his jaw, before he swallowed it. The sight caused Vegeta’s stomach to churn, and he forced himself to not look again until he finished eating.

By the time Goku finished eating his half, Vegeta was close to falling asleep again. The clink of a spoon hitting the bowl startled him out of his reverie. 

Vegeta tilted his head towards him. 

When their eyes met, Vegeta said, “How’re you feeling?”

Goku stared at him, saying nothing.

He searched Goku’s face, giving it a look over. Pale skin. Tired eyes. Dry lips. Even though he was dressed in his normal gi, Goku still looked the same way he did when they had their biggest fight: broken. 

Vegeta leaned forward. 

He slid a hand behind Goku’s head, bringing it towards him. 

Goku didn’t react, at all. 

Vegeta pressed a kiss to the bridge between Goku’s eyes, lingering for a moment over the skin. 

He pulled away, whispering, “Get some more rest.”

Goku murmured back, “Yeah.”

A quick rub to the back of his head—right over the scar—and he slid away, standing up from the bed. 

Goku’s attention stayed with him as Vegeta picked the bedsheets, blanket and comforter and dusted them off. He maintained eye-contact with Goku the entire time he fixed up the bed for him, tucking the sheets and blanket around Goku’s legs. The idea of tucking Goku in all the way up to his neck and kissing his cheek after was a nice thought, but that was just it—a thought. 

Once he fluffed up the comforter over Goku’s feet, Vegeta diverted his focus away. He leaned over the side to the bed to pick up the tray of empty bowls and plates.

Vegeta turned his back to him when he said, “I’ll come by with lunch later.”

If it wasn’t for his sensitive Saiyan hearing, he would’ve missed Goku’s soft, “Okay.”

In the kitchen, Vegeta sat at the table, listening to the sound of the dishwasher behind him, cleaning the pots, dishes and pans. Before him laid the itinerary he worked on the night before. He already completed what needed to be done around the house. The groceries were fulfilled by Bulma, and he had to fly far away to yell at her over the phone  _ not _ to come, not yet, just send the groceries via drone in capsules, and it took a lot of yelling and a lot of logic to work the woman into a corner she couldn’t get out from. 

But he knew he didn’t hurt her feelings. Bulma dished out insults and comebacks as good as he did. She was simply irritated over the fact that she wasn’t getting her way, that Vegeta made too much logical sense to fight against, and that she couldn’t easily fix this. Their argument made no dent in their relationship whatsoever. 

The exact mirror opposite of his relationship to Goku. 

He stared at the lists of exercises Goku still had to do today, and then glanced at the clock on his cell phone. 

1:35 PM. Not early morning. 

Vegeta picked up the pen and slashed out every single row, one by one. 

When done, he created a timer on his phone, setting it for 2 hours from now, and then crossed his arms and leaned back into the chair, shutting his eyes. He steadied his breathing, hoped Goku still had problems discerning time, and settled into a calm meditative state. 


End file.
